Punked again

Some time ago, I reported that Julie had trolled me as we were out for a drive (Fingered...). I'm sorry/happy to say she has done it again.

What? Sorry - you want context? What's to say? I mean, we're driving along and I slowly became aware that Julie appeared to be groping her own arse. Then I asked a silly question.

Well played.

All I could think of though, was one of Paul Whitehouse's characters from The Fast Show, Clive Tucker.

Clive Tucker, left.

Incorrectly listed (initially) in many articles as having a sneezing problem, you will clearly see from this 'episode' of Country Matters with Bob Fleming, that he has a different trouble altogether...

Twofer Wednesday - Limiting the options

Driving back home the other day, we were passed by someone in a bit of a hurry.

Relative speeds not captured, sadly.

In Britain, the national speed limit on normal roads is 60 mph - unless otherwise stated, of course. On dual carriageways and motorways, this goes up to 70 mph - again, unless there are signs telling you otherwise.

On this occasion, I estimated that the now rapidly-disappearing dot in the distance was going at least ninety. At times like this, I wish I could just open the window and drop a flashing blue light onto the roof of the car...

Splitting hairs, but I suppose it would be an entertaining defence to try out in court...

Have a tune.

Smart Parts

Until my father's car was passed along to me, Julie and me had had an extended period of not having our own transport. That may not be too much of a problem, but as anyone who had HAD a car, bike or whatever before losing it will know, you find yourself frustrated and a little lost once that car has gone. All those places that were previously accessible suddenly become distant and unattainable. It doesn't help that I'm not much of a public transport kind of person.

Naturally, you fantasise about having a car again.

By this point, Smart Cars had been around for a while, but I still liked the idea and the look of them. Being able to get into tiny parking spots was a bonus. Cheaper, more economical and allegedly more eco-friendly (although doubts have since arisen, which I do not fully understand), the only downside of them for me was the lack of storage space. Okay, for a single person, it wouldn't be too much of a problem, but for a couple with luggage, space is going to be a very pertinent issue.

You might think I'm being a little oversensitive about this, but after a fly-drive holiday to Ireland with a friend where the agent supplied us with a Toyota Yaris, I take it seriously. I kid you not. That Yaris had a boot (trunk) that had space for only one suitcase stood on edge and perhaps a small bag to one side. Perhaps. There were other issues I had with the Yaris, but the storage was the main one.

Let's get back on track.

Naturally, this little fantasy of mobility was a shared one, even if the specific details varied a little between us...

This took place some years ago, and I still don't know what Julie meant by that. Nor does she, so at least I have company in confusion.

Mind you, this paint job might qualify.

Easy, rider.

Now, THAT'S what I call a compromise...

Hide the line

A staple of long journeys with any family, even if you don't have any of the books (or any recollection of them either). I spy is a simple game, although frustration can often occur if the 'spied' is obscure, silly, or - in some games I have known - fictitious. It can also serve as a joke. Stuck in a dark room when there is a power cut? "I spy, something with my little eye, something beginning with 'D'." "Dark?" "Yes. Well done."

Driving up to my mother's home is a fairly long journey, involving lots of motorways, some parts of which may even be free of road works or traffic jams.
Yeah, right.

Normally, our distraction of choice is the alphabet game, but even a favourite can become stale over time, so we switch to other games, such as I-spy.

One time, it was my turn. I chose something that I believed to be fairly simple. Of course experience tells you that nobody gets the obvious ones. No wonder people get a bit antsy with the odd ones. I had gone for something beginning with the letter 'P', and since we were moving nicely on a relatively clear stretch of motorway, the lane markings were clearly visible.

Many guesses later...

How do you camouflage white lines on a dark road?
Probably like this...

Ewe have to be joking...

If you drive a particular journey often enough, it begins to feel like the distance has increased. Having the radio on, or music can help, as can sharing the journey with a companion. You can chat or play games such as I-spy or, as we often do, alphagames. However, even then, you will often find there are times when there is simply nothing to say and you just don't feel like playing any games. You're on a motorway, doing a steady 65mph, you and your companion have exhausted all the normal topics of conversation.

And you begin to zone out.

It's not the same as falling asleep, but it can be just as dangerous.

If I am on my own and I feel like I am slipping into The Zone, I make sure I have some upbeat music - rock, ska, pop, whatever - and crank up the volume to disguise my abysmal singing voice. If Julie is with me, then I try and come up with a speculative area for a conversation. Why? Because there is no way any answer my wife would come up with would be in any way dull. In fact, I will often be in danger of not being able to see because of laughing so hard...

On one journey, I felt my eyes unfocusing. Time to come up with a conversation starter. Hm. How about reincarnation?

Trust me when I say that the car was quiet for a little while following that - although that was mainly because I honestly couldn't think of anything to say...

This seems apt enough, though.

Teletlikeitis

In the car one day, we were waiting at a junction to a dual carriageway. Waiting and waiting; it's a busy stretch of road.
Just before the junction, on the dual carriageway itself, there is a pedestrian crossing, the type where you need to press a button for the lights to change.

Unfortunately for us, there was not a pedestrian in sight, and I starting hoping aloud for one to come and push that damn button so the lights would change and thereby allow us out.

Julie suggested I tried to do it by telepathy. I could have let it slide and accepted the sentiment, but I'm a picky bugger and I have a very strong didactic streak in me, so I took the opportunity to explain the correct term and the difference between the two.

Very quick, and - in my view - pretty much spot-on these days. Ironic, though, as I'm not the one that watches X Factor...

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ps: If you're wondering about the title, try saying aloud.

Scrunched-up sheep

When you're out and about, driving around, there are often quiet moments. You've got fed up with the radio and you have temporarily run out of things to talk about. You're In The Zone and looking out of the car window, barely taking in your surroundings.You're on autopilot. The body is perfectly able to take care of things, and the eyes have become the ultimate in optical technology; you are taking in everything you need and more for driving the car safely, but they still have the facility to notice random little things.

That, folks, is the basis for this week. On Saturday, me and Julie were out for the day. Unfortunately, we chose a pretty damp day for it, so anything we saw out of the car windows was at least partially obscured by a near-constant mist of road spray.

Where we live, there are a great deal of fields. A lot of them are marshland, but it's amazing what sheep will put up with. As we traveled, the rain pattering on the roof of the car, Julie's mind wandered and she idly started up a silly little conversation.

That kept us going for a little while... heh...

Slow, slow, quick-quick, slow.

This one could be described, in a more print-based environment, as being 'hot off the presses'.

The weather in Britain has been unpleasant lately, although not nearly as bad as the weather experts predicted. That's only for this country, of course. Other parts of the world have far worse weather, but moaning about the weather seems to be a well-deserved cliche.

I was out, attending to a couple of chores, and happened to notice that the clouds were rather - as Julie would put it - "ominominominous". Since it was late in the afternoon, I thought it might be nice I collected Julie from work, as opposed to letting her trudge home in the grotty weather. I'm nice like that.

It was an uneventful drive to her and then home, which was nice, especially since there are roadworks that have blocked off one section of a major road on the seafront very close to us. Putting it bluntly, it's fucking chaotic. While getting home was a relative breeze, it took me twenty minutes to get further than a hundred yards from our house on the way out.

Once parked up, though, I sat still for a moment to let the controlled ire of idiots subside. Julie also remained in her seat, too, but for a different reason. Coming up the road was a learner driver.

Seeing one of these ahead of you on a narrow road.
Never cheering.

Since I had parked on the right-hand side of the road, Julie thought it best to let them by before making a move. Unfortunately, it seems like the learner had not long begun their lessons,* and was proceeding very cautiously (i.e. 'very slowly') up the road.

Obviously, it probably was less than a minute, but to Julie, with her hand on the door handle, it must have seemed like an age.

Yep. That one earned her The Look.

*Poor bugger, eh? Just started learning, and they're being dragged around near closed-off roads during rush hour.

Think pink!

We bade a fond farewell to our friend on Saturday. After a fun week packed with meeting people, going places - and far too much food - she sadly had to return to Greece.

After breakfast, we piled into the car and set off up to Heathrow airport. Remembering the pig's ear that was the previous week's journey, we made damn sure we left plenty of time to get there. Just as well, because the M25 once again slowed to a crawl; rather than being way too early, we were pretty much bang on time. But that's by the by.

On the way up, I was concentrating on driving - although we did have some music going, a rather eclectic mix disc of mp3s I had thrown together. Between the two, I missed the occasional detail - especially if they were in a blind spot on the other side of the car. So when Julie came out with this particular Gem, to say I was speechless is something of an understatement.

Wait, what?
Our friend was too busy laughing to be of much help, and Julie was pointing in the direction of one of those blind spots. Eventually, I managed to reason she had been referring to an ornament on the top of another car's radio antenna.

Cute, eh?
Except it's not pink. It took me a little searching, but I eventually worked out that the ornament in question was in the style of Piglet from the Disney version of Winnie the Pooh.

You have no idea how relieved I am to know what it was...

Parking in a flash.

A couple of days ago, our guest had a little surprise; I had arranged a meeting with some mutual friends. Under the pretense of visiting a garden centre, me and our guest drove across Kent, avoiding various nutters on the way. We arrived a little earlier than our friends, so I gently steered my companion around the garden centre, coincidentally managing to keep a discreet eye on the entrance.

When our friends arrived, I casually pointed to various plants that just happened to be located in a different direction than the entrance - so a little light sneaking could be achieved.

The eventual encounter was all I could hope for and more, although my companion was quiet for a moment before turning to me and simply saying, "you're a bad man." She was grinning as she said it, though.

We had a drink and a small bite to eat at the garden centre's cafe. Although they would rather it was called a 'bistro', which should tell you about the food - and the prices.

After a rest and a natter, we decided it was time to move on. When the question of a location was raised, there was a sudden flurry of smartphones as people tapped and swiped away furiously. After some discussion, it was agreed that we would go to Shorne Wood Country Park - our friends would lead and me and our guest would follow.

A great visitor centre!

Upon our arrival, we had a small search for a parking spot. My companion, who is not a native to this country, saw a number of signs referring to the parking facilities, all with a stern, clear instruction to 'Pay and display'.

Something about me must be catching, because my friend started laughing like a drain. When I managed to ask what she had found funny, she pointed to one of the signs and said;

I looked at the hordes of children running around and politely declined the offer.

Fairways and motorways

Also known as autobahns in Germany and freeways in the USA, motorways are technically supposed to be a means of bypassing all those nasty things that slow traffic down, like towns and winding country lanes. In a sense, they have worked brilliantly, because those towns and country lanes are a lot easier to drive around now. However, that's only because all the traffic is now to be found - gridlocked - on these multi-lane car parks.

Do I sound bitter? Oh, I'm sorry.

Yes I have a reason. You see, we have a guest this week, a very good friend who has managed to escape from her homeland of Greece for a few days. The only things is, we live on the south coast of England, and our friend was due to arrive in Heathrow airport. This meant driving, on a Saturday early in the school holiday season, on the infamous M25 - AKA the London Orbital. It's infamous for having many delays and has in fact been portrayed as having demonic origins by messrs. Pratchett and Gaiman in the excellently witty novel, 'Good Omens'.

The original cover of the novel
featured an eerie, glowing version
of the M25.

Whatever the origins, the London Orbital was definitely living up to its reputation on Saturday. For about thirty miles, we alternated between crawling and complete halt. When we reached a service station, we gave in and decided to have lunch - only to find that the service's car park was about as gridlocked as the motorway we had just left. Going in AND leaving.

After we finally managed to leave the services and crawl our way to the airport, we had another problem - how on earth could we pick someone up without using a car park?
Answer: we couldn't.

Despite us timing our arrival perfectly with our friend's ejection from security and customs, we wound up going through two car parks and getting lost on the way. In the end, what should have been a joyful meeting was instead a hurried "Oh hello, come on, let's get going." I'd had enough of the bloody roads.
With that in mind, I went along with julie's suggestion that we avoid the M25 and head off a different route. Since she had the map, I agreed and let her chart the course.

Whoops.

Julie readily agrees that map-reading is not her forte, so she can hardly be blamed for us going around roads, hitting the same roundabout twice from different directions - and leaving it from two other different exits - and crossing the M25 two or three times.

I have no idea what our guest in the back of the car thought as we bickered our random way across the western outskirts of London, but it's possible she had some misgivings...
Eventually, more by luck than judgement, we found our way onto the M3. Feeling a very certain need, I suggested - in no uncertain terms - that we stop at the next motorway services for a trip to the loo and a nice, hot cup of tea.

Fleet Services (circled), as portrayed in our road atlas.

'...and relax...'

You may be asking, at this point, why on earth we don't have a satnav. Well, I'll give you two good reasons. Firstly, the sound and the look annoy the hell out of me. And secondly, when the bloody things get stuck into a closed loop by turning right all the time, I remember that I actually like maps and enjoy browsing them. Julie, unfortunately, doesn't have the same facility with maps as I do, so it can be a little hit and miss when it comes to going to new places.

That aside, I decided that we would consult our road atlas together, before we set off once more.

As the three of us crowded around the pages, Julie betrayed her lack of experience (because that's all it is really) once more and wondered how I knew where we were.

Our friend was ever so pleased. She'd only been in this country for a couple of hours and she'd already been at Gem ground zero.

The wrong side of the tracks

Julie has a friend, an ex-colleague she has kept in touch with. The thing is, Julie's friend, Sue has a reputation for being a bit absent-minded and prone to changing her mind six or seven times a minute. Put it this way - even Julie labels Sue as being 'a bit dappy'.

Yes, I know. Scary, isn't it?

Quite some time ago, we were giving Sue a lift to visit a friend in Bexhill, the next town along from us. I have already related one part of this journey (click here to read).

The thing is, just before that event, Julie and Sue were deeply engaged in a conversation about the location of the local railway line.
From the outset, I was astounded by the fact this conversation was taking place - and that it was going on for so long. Back and forth, the two women tried to work out where the trains would be going by. After a few minutes of this, I snapped.

Just in case anyone thinks I'm being too harsh on Sue and Julie, may I present this map, courtesy of Google.

See that blue stuff? That's the sea, that is.

Julie's got it covered.

Now that the weather is finally beginning to warm up, there are a lot more things to see and do with your time off. On the one hand, it's great, because getting out and about means a lot more things around you. By the same token, however, that also means distractions when you're driving. Our dad was notorious for this, which was troubling when the road you were on happened to be little more than a track clinging to one side of a valley...

It does tend to provide a talking point though... hehehe...

Earlier today, Julie and myself were taking a drive through the Sussex countryside. With perfect timing, though, it began to rain at precisely the moment we walked out of the house. Just a few drops at first, but when we got into the car, the spots turned to a spattering, and as we drove away along the seafront, it turned heavier.

Well, crud.
It goes without saying, of course, that the latest weather report had it as being beautifully sunny all day.

I shouldn't moan, really. As we progressed, we passed one of those open-topped tour buses; astonishingly, there were still a couple of determined tourists staring forward defiantly from beneath soggy raincoats. Pillocks. You'd never catch us doing something as asinine as that (*coughs uncomfortably...).

Something else we saw was an open-topped kit car with a Q registration plate.

For persons not in the know, the letter 'Q' is generally not included on a UK car registration plate, as it's considered to be too similar to the number zero. However, for kits, rebuilds and vehicles of unsure origins, the Government whacks a 'Q' right there for everyone to see.

Julie wasn't too worried about that, though. For her, a far more interesting (and fair, I have to admit) point was how wet people inside that car would get. After all, it wasn't even a drop-top (convertible). I pointed out that the interior was probably mostly if not entirely waterproof to some degree. Not only that, if they decided to use it for a shopping run or similar, they could always throw a tarpaulin over the back seat.

Okay. Time to shift gears.

I have a very curious mind, especially when it comes to words. I love how various languages relate to each other, how words can have different meanings but the same historical root, how the English language evolved... well, you get the idea. I'm a word nerd.

When I mentioned to Julie about the possibility of tarpaulin usage, my WN gene switched on and suddenly decided it wanted to know the historical roots of the word. Unfortunately, I wondered this aloud to my wife, someone who has, at best, a most pragmatic approach to the English language.

Well played, love. Well played.

For anyone that is interested in the etymological roots of the word 'tarpaulin', here is the Wikipedia entry.

Of course, if you happen to be anything like myself, you're going to want to look up the entry for 'palling', and thereby doom yourself to hours of chained searches on Wikipedia....

Go forth and do baffle!

The weather in our part of the world have been fairly constant for the last few months; Variations on three central themes - cold, wet and windy. The days where it has been none of those three have been very rare and it's been wet enough that I don't think we'll have to worry about any hosepipe bans until at least April...

For a driver, those low temperatures, the rain and the high winds can be especially problematic. In fact, possibly the worst of the lot is the wind.

My own car is not a large car, but that's not necessarily a bad thing, as it means it catches a lot less of any strong gusts. The works van, on the other hand is a different prospect. It's not a large van by any stretch of the imagination, but there is a noticeable difference, one I definitely noticed when I one day moved from an enclosed banked stretch of road onto a very exposed bridge crossing an estuary. I was already overtaking a car when a side wind suddenly blasted from the left. I'm pretty sure I left dents in the steering wheel from the grip...

Yeesh. So very glad I'm not a truck driver by profession.

I was talking about this incident to Julie recently; I had been reminded of it by the very strong winds that were currently blasting through Eastbourne and the south of England in general. In fact, I wouldn't have been surprised if the bus company had suspended services along the coast road East of Brighton. It's a very exposed stretch of road with a sheer cliff dropping into the English Channel, so it's fair enough that the company doesn't really relish the idea of a busload of people being suddenly swept off by the wind to a watery doom.

Sat in the relative comfort of our front room, however, we had the heater on full blast, a mug each of nice, hot tea, and feeling very happy to be on that side of the window. I took a sip of Lapsang Suchong and grimaced as a fresh gust sent a wheeled dustbin skittering down the road.

It may have been a tad windy outside, but my mind had just been very effectively blown.

By the way, this is the Forth rail bridge - the Forth on the Firth of Forth...

Drink and drive responsibly

Walking home one day, I noticed a van parked by the pavement bearing this logo:

I thought (and still think) that this was an excellent idea. If you go out for the night and suddenly realise you have had a tad too much of the jolly juice, then you don't really want to be risking life, limb and licence by getting behind the wheel. Which is where this lot come in.

Naturally, this sparked off a conversation between Julie and myself about alcohol and the dangers of Driving Under the Influence.Normally, you would have the standard joke, "don't drink and drive, you'll only spill it." Not when Julie's around you won't...

No, Julie wasn't talking about making a phone call.

This is so very wrong on so many levels, it's hard to know where to begin...

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DISCLAIMER
Obviously, we don't condone drink-driving. If you're going to drink, don't drive, that's it. However, if you go out somewhere (in the UK) and find your night is suddenly full of alcohol, then please make use of Chauffeur Monkey.

Magnificent motors, post-haste!

This weekend, there were a couple of events taking place in Eastbourne. One was a semi-regular 'continental' market along the seafront promenade, which sells product from Europe and the UK - and, for some reason, native American Indian-themed clothing and accoutrements. Hence the use of quote marks above. There were plenty of foodstuffs - mostly pricey foodstuffs. Admittedly, they were tasty, but they were still pricey. Baklava (or however you wish to spell it), churros, paella (so very tempted by this), noodles, biscuits, cakes, cheeses (including a cheddar infused with Guinness. VERY nice melted onto toast) and sweets. There was even a guy trying, in the chill wind, to sell slush puppies. Yeah. I'm guessing he wasn't making much of a profit this weekend.

Meanwhile, at the other end of the long prom (and back a bit), there was the annual event known as Magnificent Motors. We're not petrolheads, not in the slightest. Any interest in cars, vans, buses or lorries is going to be on a purely cultural basis. We don't care how smooth a ride it is/was, or what goes on under the bonnet (or 'hood' for our American friends). However, it was something to do on a bank holiday weekend, so we wandered along, grateful that there was no entry fee.

Last year, it turned out that I was far more interested in one of the bands playing than in anything else - as we approached, I heard the strains of a cover of a tune by The Specials. All of a sudden, Julie found herself talking to thin air (I know, I know...), as I peeled off at speed and a tangent, and made a beeline for the stage where Ska'd 4Life were banging out some great tunes. There was a half decent crowd, but only myself, a couple of young children and one woman (who turned out to be a band WAG) near the stage showed any inclination to pump elbows and dance along. Julie, in the meantime, maintained a cautious distance.
Sadly, the music this year wasn't up to par, although I had to give the singer we saw some credit for singing the Joni Mitchell hit 'Big Yellow Taxi' at a motor show.* I'd have put a pile of money on nobody else getting the joke, though...

It didn't take us long to wander around, although we did stop and have a chat with one guy who was running a stall devoted to making and selling DVDs of old film footage of various forms of public transport around the South of Britain. I was very tempted, but Julie persuaded me not to bother. I'm still thinking about it though. Hmm, look at that, I seem to have his website....
Shortly after that, we came across this beautiful old car.

Apologies for the quality, I was only using my phone-cam.

Now, bear in mind that, as I said before, neither of us have any knowledge or interest of a car's workings, I was curious as to what that brass plate I have pointed out was actually for. In fact, it put me in mind of something else...

Facepalm time. Well done, love, you caught me out with that one. Terrible pun, but you got me, nonetheless.

*Oh come on, you know the lyrics; "... they paved paradise and put up a parking lot..."

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OK, so we're now into the final week of our prize draw. If you haven't put your name in yet, then do so immediately, if not sooner. The prizes, as if you need reminding, are as follows.

1 person wins a special edition of 'Good Omens' by Terry Pratchett & Neil Gaiman, a special edition of Audrey Niffenegger's 'The Time Traveler's Wife, an official Julie's Gems bookmark and a funky slap-watch.
4 people will win a special edition of 'Good Omens' by Terry Pratchett & Neil Gaiman and an official Julie's Gems bookmark.

Remember, anyone can enter, the prizes will be sent to anywhere in the world at no cost to you. All you have to do is send us an email (no postal addresses yet!) to juliesgemsuk@hotmail.co.uk
The latest date for entries is this Sunday, 13th of May

Time to finish with a video - a little bit of Ska'd 4 Life, anyone?

"I'm driving backwards for Christmas...

...across the Irish Sea..."
OK so I'm misquoting the Goons song, but it just seemed appropriate.
In any case, we have a guest star today, although I think we can in fact call this particular contributor a repeat offender. Please give a big hand to J's mother (Not Julie's mum, but that of a friend whose name also begins with 'J'), who is now making her third appearance on Julie's Gems. In fact, in honour of this little feat, I have now retro-actively tagged her previous posts with 'Oh mother'; obviously, I will also be labelling any further appearances in the same way.

Any way. Today's Gem may not seem that odd at first glance...

However, it only makes sense if you intend to drive everywhere in reverse gear. Including across the Irish Sea, naturally.
To finish off today's post, I thought I would treat you to a video clip for The Goons' hit single, "I'm walking backwards for Christmas". A song, incidentally, which was played at our wedding and went down a treat, with almost everybody singing along.

Heh - is it me, or should we adopt The Goons as our official band? It'd be entirely appropriate. Well, either them or the Bonzo Dog Doo-Dah Band.

Going nutty in a Nissan

Oh, what a weekend.
Over the course of the last few days, I have learned a few things. 'Let sleeping dogs lie' isn't a warning, more a mission statement. Seriously, Toby the Jack Russell is very fond of the easy life. Also, 'fight fire with fire' is all well and good, but you are definitely going to get your fingers burned - in a purely metaphorical (but nonetheless painful) sense. Never again will I attempt to drink in order to attain a state similar to that which Julie and my Dad seem to inhabit at times.

Yes, we had a visitor this weekend. Two, if you count the dog. My dad decided to brave the traffic and come all the way down to the coast to stay with us, lose completely and continually at Scrabble* and to join forces with Julie against me and the forces of logic and sanity. It didn't take long for them to settle into a routine.
By the time I got home from work on Friday, Julie and Dad were already in and settled with a cuppa. I was desperate for one myself, but put it off until I'd helped Dad unload his car. Lovely looking thing, it is; a bright red Nissan something-or-other (can you tell I'm not a car person?).

It was a recent acquisition, a 'nice little runabout', as Dad called it. I remarked, though, that it was a tad on the large side to be a  'little runabout'. He agreed with this, but explained that the smaller car posed a certain problem for him. Being rather on the short side (only just hitting five feet on a good day), he needs to have the seat as close to the pedals as is possible. Unfortunately, the smallest car had a gearstick that was positioned so that is would have been right by his hip - obviously no good. The next size up had a gearstick that was halfway up the dashboard, which made it to the front of my Dad's driving position.
Julie, however, reckoned there should have been a complete overhaul of the car's design...

(Note for people used to the USA way of referring to cars; for 'bonnet', read 'hood'. You know, that bit of the car just in front of the windscreen.)

Not to be outdone, Dad and me were talking about walking into town the next day. I did wonder if he was up to it, considering his health problems, but he poo-poohed my concerns and said he'd be perfectly fine, as long as he took it easy and remembered to take his inhaler with him (yes he did, FYI). It's not that far to town, so I wasn't too worried. We were going to be stopping frequently, after all and having a drink or two to keep the fluid levels up. Mind you, he thought to be cheeky about the size of our town and said:

(A 'park and ride', for those not familiar with the concept, is an idea whereby a large car park is built on the edge of a town or city, and a dedicated bus service runs people between there and the town centre. By and large, it's a decent, successful idea. It's just a pity that not many towns or cities are agreeable to, or are capable of supporting such a service.)

And that was just the start of the weekend. My notepad very rarely left my side and I had a second one ready in case I mislaid the first. I also lost track of the times I rued not having a dictaphone. So much stuff was lost because I was simply unable to keep up with the pair of them.

*More on the Scrabble Wednesday. And on my inability to keep up with Dad and Julie. See you then!